


Retrospect

by chipfics



Series: In Hand, in Mind [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - sibling inquisitors, F/M, based in a personal AU of mine wherein the inquisitors are siblings, this is entirely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24105595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipfics/pseuds/chipfics
Summary: What Tristan Trevelyan doesn't think Josephine knows is that they've met- once, a long time ago, when they were different people and still children.Josephine/M!Trevelyan, set in an AU where the male and female pc are siblings. Self indulgent piece, shared on a whim.
Relationships: Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet
Series: In Hand, in Mind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741927
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Retrospect

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, I've recently gotten VERY into dragon age and it's keeping me afloat during what has already been a very rough year for me.
> 
> This story takes place in an AU of mine where Tristan Trevelyan is the Herald but his sister Alyssa is the Inquisitor. That's all the basics you need to know about my semi-oc inquisitors to follow the story.

Tristan Trevelyan had been only fourteen when he first met Josephine Montilyet.

He was always awkward and shy in his youth. He stuttered, fumbled his words, slouched and tried to make himself smaller. It was as hard thing to do considering his lanky height. He was all angles and bony joints at the time, stuffed into formal wear he was already outgrowing and carted off with his sister to a party at his great aunt's.

It wasn't the first time, and it wasn't the last. His family always insisted on making the most of each time Alyssa was home visiting from the Circle. Tristan always tried to say that the circle wasn't even in another city, it wasn't hard for them to go see her- Alyssa would back him up, always aware of her little brother's nerves. It never worked of course, and so they would trail in behind their parents and older brother Roland. Roland was ten years ahead of Alyssa, and she was five ahead of Tristan. Still, despite being the baby he was much taller than her already and nearly as tall as the broad shouldered Roland, who teased that he would keep growing and dwarf even him one day. Tristan wasn't sure he liked the idea.

It was a rainy night, and a bigger party than Tristan had attended in the past. Usually at these larger gatherings his parents would force him into initial pleasantries but let him hole up in the library alone after, reading and avoiding eye contact with servants. Alyssa would usually join him for a spell.

But their parents were growing tired of Tristan being timid. He needed to learn to speak to people, they said, and he would be forbidden from the library tonight. His hands sweated as they were announced. Alyssa prodded between his shoulders, a reminder to stand straight. He inhaled, exhaled, and stood at his full height.

There were so many foreigners in the room. Orlesians, Antivans, Fereldens. The Orlesian nobles all wore masks. Tristan had learned about them in his tutoring, but he couldn't for the life of him remember their purpose right now. Every thought had fled from his mind save from the desire to flee and hide until the festivities were over.

There was a table with refreshments in one corner. Alyssa steered them through the crowd skillfully. She was petite, but her confidence dwarfed her in size and let her command a room in ways Tristan knew he never could. She leveled out easy, cordial apologies and greeting as she pulled her little brother along, completely unbothered by any reaction, negative or otherwise. Eventually they had arrived at the punch bowl and she served them.

“How do you d-do that,” Tristan whispered despondently. His voice cracked twice.

“I don't really think about it,” Alyssa admitted, “That's your problem, Triss, you overthink everything and end up missing your opportunities.”

Tristan took the cup from her and sipped sullenly. She was right, of course. His anxiety was so overwhelming that he never got around to leaping- just looking.

“I want to go to the library,” He whined pitifully after a few minutes of watching people socialize. Alyssa laughed at him.

“Mum and Dad will have your hide if you duck out right away.” She said, “Come on, let's find a seat and watch people dance. That's quieter than being in here, at least.”

The ballroom had seats lined around the upper balconies so people could observe dancers and rest between sets. Tristan sipped at his punch and avoided eye contact with everyone who walked by.

He heard whispers from one or two people and saw glances. It was no surprise- their great aunt was hosting the party, and the Trevelyan family's green eyes, orange hair and wealth of freckles were hard to miss. Tristan was hard to miss too, tall as he was.

He stewed in his thoughts and focused on the music for a while. Maybe he could just stare at the floor for a few sets and then sneak out to the library. The last time he had been here he had found an entire set of volumes on the history of fencing technique in Ostwick. He was eager to read more of it, really, and he had much more interest in improving his swordplay than avoiding the eyes and smiles of girls whose names he did not even know.

Suddenly, Alyssa elbowed him. He looked up with a jolt, nearly spilling what little was left of his drink. There was a young man about his sister's age smiling politely at him.

“I'm going to go dance a bit,”Alyssa said to him, “Will you be okay on your own for a few minutes?”

 _No_ , Tristan's mind screamed, _absolutely not. Don't leave me here._

Instead, he croaked out a hesitant “Yes.”

Alyssa left, and suddenly the noise went from pleasant music to an overwhelming cacophony of strings, woodwinds, tittering women and chuckling men. So many people, so many _eyes_ , and he could swear they were all focused on _him_. The rational part of his mind reminded him that was impossible, but it was quashed by his anxiety just like always.

 _Find something to focus on_ , his sister's voice rang through his head. She worked so hard to help him cope. She always reminded him that distraction was effective and reasonable for these things. If he could just move his mind to another track...

He tore his eyes from the floor and scanned the room. He focused on the masks of the Orlesian guests, tried to guess their material. He watched the movements of the cellist in the band for a few moments, then began counting ridiculous hairstyles. One, two, three. Four was especially extravagant. Five. Six.

Near seven, his eyes flicked over someone, and then back.

A girl, two or three years older than him. She was...very pretty. Her skin was much darker than his, as was her hair, done up tastefully and not nearly in so silly a way as the woman she was speaking with. It was her smile that caught him, though. Genuine, pleasant, like she was really enjoying herself. He wished he could be that carefree.

He finished his drink, and his eyes went back to the girl once or twice before he noticed that he had fixated on her. He glued his eyes back to the floor then, embarrassed that he had let himself do that. Staring in such a way was hardly polite, especially when the young lady didn't even know he was watching.

He looked at his feet. His trousers were almost too small already, his boots a little tight. His mother would have him fitted for new formal wear after tonight, no doubt. He was growing like a weed again, destined to be a tree of a fellow like his father.

Alyssa was off dancing. Having fun. Laughing, probably. He envied his sister. Though she spoke of stress and fear living in the Circle under the thumb of the Templars, she always held her head high, never belittled herself. She kept careful track of her limits, but she still pushed herself to be better. He thought of all his dancing lessons back home, how he never had the chance to put them to use because he was so afraid of being shot down that he never asked anyone to dance to begin with.

He understood why his parents were concerned. He really did. He was a third child, destined probably for Chantry work rather than a large inheritance- but if he were to grow up well he would still need to come out of his shell. They were only concerned for his well being, even if their pushing only succeeded in adding to his stress. He didn't want to disappoint them...but people were just so _frightening_ sometimes.

A new set of dances was beginning. Tristan looked up and found that the girl he was watching before was sitting across the way, hands folded in her lap. The smile was gone from her face and she looked more pensive now. He wondered if something had happened- or if she was just like him and lost herself in her thoughts the moment she was alone.

Alyssa strolled up and took her seat again, offering him a smile that was apologetic. He nodded at her, lips pursed.

The question was out of his mouth before he even realized he was pointing. “Who is that, do you know?”

Alyssa looked across at the girl. “Josephine Montilyet,” She said helpfully, “She's from...Orlais? No, just going to school there I think. She's been here once or twice before...oh, has she caught your attention?”

Her smile was teasing as she nudged him in the side. Tristan turned red to his ears.

“Not so much,” He grumbled sullenly, “Don't look at me like that.”

Alyssa laughed pleasantly. It was far from derisive or mocking- she would never be so mean spirited as that. Tristan still shrunk into himself a little.

But Alyssa squeezed his shoulder then. “Hey, look,” She said, “It's _good_ that you're actually noticing people. You should ask her to dance.”

He felt himself go even redder. “I couldn't,” He said staunchly, but Alyssa stood and pulled on his arm.

“I mean it,” She said, “She's not too much older than you, and she's very nice from what I hear. You'll make friend. It will be good. Come on.”

Tristan found himself standing, though he couldn't fathom why. “She'll turn me down,” He said stupidly.

“No she won't. You're adorable and you're polite.” Alyssa said, “Go on. If it looks like you're floundering I'll rescue you, I promise.”

She pushed him, but it took leaning her whole weight into him. She was just over five feet and a bit spindly. Tristan hadn't started to fill out yet, but he was still much bigger than her.

His throat went dry, but somehow he propelled himself forward, around the balconies and over to where Josephine was sitting.

She was much prettier up close, and he realized he had no idea what to say. He inhaled deeply.

It was just an invitation to dance. He didn't need to be flowery. It couldn't be too hard, right? And Alyssa wouldn't let him hear the end of it if he didn't at least try.

“M-miss Montilyet?” He ended up squeaking. His voice cracked and he physically winced.

But Josephine looked up and offered a polite smile. “Oh, please forgive me,” She said, “I didn't see you come up.”

Her accent was noteworthy. Tristan swallowed.

“It's all right,” He said nervously, “Er, I...”

He shuffled. _Just say it_ , he screamed in his head, “I wondered if I could have the next dance?”

It fumbled out of his mouth so fast it was almost a single word, and Josephine looked puzzled for a moment while she tried to parse it. Tristan clenched his hands at his sides.

“Oh,” She said as she understood, “a dance. Yes, if you like.”

Oh, that was almost worse than being turned down. He could feel his palms sweating, and he knew they would be clammy when he held her hand. How awful. But there was no running away now. He had to go through with it.

The dance floor was so bright compared to the observation area. Less crowded with the neatly placed couples, though, and that helped. He had space to breathe.

The song that began was one he recognized, to his relief. For a foxtrot, also something he knew. His parents insisted on extensive dance lessons and for the first time, Tristan was glad for the experience.

Josephine was taller than Alyssa, but still smaller than him. She came up to his nose, and he avoided eye contact, staring past her as he took her hand in one of his and placed his other on her waist. His heart raced a mile a minute and he was sure he'd feel like he'd run a marathon once this was over.

Despite his lanky, angular build, Tristan was light on his feet. Though lost when it came to socializing he was very at home in his own body and always sure of his movements. It was one of the few things he was consistently praised for. The steps came naturally. It was no different than learning fencing stances, really. Formulaic, with a little improvising depending on the environment. He was surprised to find that his heart rate stabilized almost the moment they began to move. The familiarity of steps he had memorized so thoroughly brought on a soothing effect, and his breaths evened out.

If it had been the Viennese waltz he was sure he would have tripped over himself. That one he was still practicing. He blinked as he heard a noise and realized Josephine was trying to speak to him.

“I beg your pardon?” He squeaked nervously, and Josephine gave him a small smile.

“I asked where you learned to dance,” She said as they continued, “You are surprisingly light on your feet.”

“O-oh,” He fumbled, “Just...at home. My parents hired an instructor.”

“Where are you from?”

He swallowed thickly. “Ostwick,” He said simply, “Y-you are...living in Orlais?”

“For finishing school,” Josephine provided, “I am from Antiva, though.”

“Antiva.” Tristan committed it to memory. He would ask his tutor about the region.

Though the words that came to him were few as they exchanged pleasantries, the movement felt natural. Right, in a way it didn't when he was practicing at home. He found himself wondering why it had taken him so long to get onto the dance floor at one of these parties. If this is what it was like, then it really wasn't so terrible.

The music wound down to the end of the song, and Tristan stumbled just slightly at the end for not quite realizing it was over. He fumbled a muttered apology as he came to a final halt and bowed.

Quite suddenly, all his anxiety came flooding back. What was he thinking? People were watching. Eyes were on him. His pulse zipped along again and he swallowed. His face was reddening.

“Th-thank you, madam,” He stuttered clumsily, “If you'll excuse me!”

His voice cracked as he fled, long legs carrying him away and back into the vestibule with his pulse pounding in his ears.

He'd just danced. With a girl. At a party full of foreign nobles. He might just faint.

It was not long after that Alyssa found him and spirited him away to the library when she saw he was coming apart at the seams. She was proud of him, she said, and had chatted with him over books and more punch for the rest of the party. Their parents were a bit miffed that he had ended up sequestering himself again, but also pleased that he had made an effort at the beginning.

It was only as they were climbing into the coach to leave that he realized he had never given Josephine his name.

* * *

That had been a long eleven years ago. Before the Blight had even struck.

Tristan was a man now, just past twenty-five. He stood six foot three inches tall, broad shouldered and filled out with thick muscle. Good posture, no stutter, a pleasant and sincere air about him that made him more popular than he was aware.

He was sure, he kept telling himself, that Josephine did not remember that night. It was so long ago, and probably very insignificant to her. He was a different person now- a symbol, even, as the Herald.

He felt relief whenever he remembered that Alyssa had been given the position of Inquisitor. Though he held the mark, he had deferred to her decisions and judgment from the very beginning, and people took notice of that. Because the Herald trusted her, they trusted her. She took to the position of leadership well too, with his full support. Weight was on Tristan, but he shared it with a sister he could rely on.

Josephine had grown up beautifully. She was self assured, genuine, graceful. Tristan's boyhood crush had come back screaming in only weeks and he was ashamed that it was continuing to grow with every day. He was fighting a war and it was not the time for silly infatuations.

He reminded himself weakly of that as he finished a briefing on arriving diplomats with Josephine one morning, trying not to stare at the way her mouth moved when she spoke. He had listened just enough to get the basics, but was otherwise distracted from her by...well, her.

He was turning to leave when something she said stopped him, though.

“You know, I realized something.”

He turned around, arms folded behind his back where he could fiddle with his thumbs to alleviate his need to fidget. “And what is that?” He asked, curious.

“That we have met before.” Josephine rested her chin on folded hands at her desk. Tristan felt his pulse pitter awkwardly for several beats. Words fled him and he only managed to nod.

“At a ball, over ten years ago.” Josephine explained, “There was a boy a little younger than me. He was so nervous when he asked me to dance, it looked like he might faint. But once we were on the floor he was very fluid. The way he moved and the way he spoke were complete opposites. I was quite impressed.”

“You were impressed?” Tristan asked. His voice didn't crack. It never did anymore, mellowed out into an even baritone.

Josephine smiled at him. “I was. But you see, I never got his name. He ran off as soon as it was over and I couldn't find him again- and I did look.”

Tristan shifted his weight. “Yes, I...well, I did say I was less than sterling company as a boy, didn't I?”

“You've grown so much I didn't realize it was you until after you brought the mages back from Redcliffe.” Josephine admitted, “I felt so silly when I made the connection.”

“No,” Tristan objected, “Please don't, I...I've changed so much that even Alyssa didn't recognize me for a moment when we met again at the Conclave. She hadn't seen me since the start of the rebellion. I was already twenty by the time I started really growing into myself.”

Josephine's gaze went up and down him then, and something about the way her gaze changed made him exceedingly self conscious. He felt a light flush creep into his cheeks.

“I'm quite pleased to know the man you've become, Tristan.” Josephine said after a moment, “For what it is worth.”

He felt his shoulders relax, and a smile spread on his features, gentle and warm. “I'm honored to hear that, Josephine. It's been a pleasure to know you better as well.”

Josephine's face melted into light surprise for a moment, and then she turned her eyes away from him, clearing her throat, suddenly shy. “Yes, well. I do believe that is all for the briefing. I won't keep you any longer.”

She shuffled some papers on her desk, but Tristan got the impression she was just trying to look busy.

Sometimes, at times like this, he was sure she was catching on to him. Or perhaps she held some affection for him as well. Perhaps both.

Regardless, he didn't think he was ready to tell her just yet.

“Until later, then.” He said, and turned to go. Harritt wanted him for some notes about the new sword he wanted forged, and it wouldn't do to keep him waiting too long.

Still, there was a warmth in him for the rest of the day.


End file.
